The water moves forcefully,
rising and falling with the contours of the land.
It heads to the mouth of the river,
gurgling and swirling.
Thirsty and hungry,
I am lured into the river.
The stones try to warn me,
by slowing my step as I slip,
on their rounded, mossy surfaces.
The rocks have succumbed to the will of the water.
Edges, once sharp and defiant,
are now smooth and submissive.
I feel the cold water rising above my knees.
My dusty, salty skin betrays me,
warning the river,
that I am a creature of the land and sea.
An intruder, a foreigner.
I trudge forward with honest intentions,
yet I crush reeds and moss with each footstep.
The reeds shake in protest.
The wind whispers to me,
warning me to return to land,
but the reeds drown out the wind's voice with their chatter.
An iridescent flash of light catches my eye.
It is a fish winding through the reeds.
I remember my hunger and thirst.
I reach down into the water for the fish.
The reeds retaliate.
They wrap my ankles in their sinewy tendrils.
The water conspires with the reeds and pulls the noose tight,
dragging me under the surface.
The cold river water washes over me.
in a manner both gentle and violent,
Readying me,
to be reborn, again.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the Soul
PoetryPoetry for positivity, happiness, and growth. Words for those who know what it's like to take risks, create art, stand out from the crowd, have moments of self-doubt, and moments of triumph.
